


Tuesday's Gone

by SillyKelsieGirl



Category: Actor RPF, American Actor RPF, Chris Evans - Fandom, Chris Evans Real Person Fiction, RPF - Fandom, Real Person Fiction, chris evans rpf - Fandom
Genre: Almost Kiss, Almost Sex, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Atlantic City, Be gentle guys it's my first fic, Beach Sex, Beaches, Beer, Beer and cigarettes, Big Butts, Body Image, Chest Hair, Cigarettes, Cussing, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones, Drinking, Drug Use, Drunken Kissing, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Language, F/M, Facial Hair, Feminism, First Fan Fiction, Hookups, Kissing, Light Dom/sub, My First Fanfic, POV Female Character, POV First Person, POV Original Character, Rebound, Rough Kissing, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Discovery, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual Content, She got a booty doe, She's a pot head guys, Slow Build, Smot Poking, Weed, Work In Progress, pot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-12 03:56:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5651614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SillyKelsieGirl/pseuds/SillyKelsieGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Evelynn's piece of shit fiance just dumped her, so she takes a week long vacation in Atlantic City during the off-season, even though she can't *really* afford it, hoping for some quiet alone time before she turns thirty. She meets someone unexpected, and after a rocky start they hit it off. But after a week together, do they just go their separate ways? I mean, he's practically perfect, but a girl's gotta look out for herself. Can a casual fling turn into something more?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Night

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic. Here's the Lynyrd Skynyrd song that inspired me and kind of sets the mood: https://youtu.be/QT9_tEzjtIU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Train roll on, on down the line,  
> Won't you please take me far away?  
> Now I feel the wind blow outside my door,  
> Means I'm, I'm leaving my woman at home.
> 
> \- Lynyrd Skynyrd 'Tuesday's Gone'

"You know if you're gambling, I don't have to charge you for drinks, right?" The bartender said as he polished a couple of shot glasses before neatly lining them up with the rest of the drinkware. He’d seemed gruff and hurried when he'd come on shift, but 30 minutes of brusque, jaded professionalism later, he actually seemed pretty alright. He smiled a bit as he grabbed the empty from my first drink - vodka and pineapple juice - and waited for my answer.

"Oh, my gosh, that didn't even occur to me!" I played up my twinge of embarrassment into innocence. He'd turned out to be a rather chatty, if deadpan conversation partner. I'd learned he was a local on his regular nightly shift. His kids were grown, and after a rather amicable divorce, he'd quit his job as a mortgage broker to do what he really loved: bartending. He told me he couldn't get enough of the new people and interesting stories. I couldn’t have agreed more. He was well on his way to a fat tip from me whenever I decided to call it a night, I knew that much.

I took the last sip of my second pineapple and vodka and placed a napkin neatly atop it. Hopefully, whoever might come to this seat after me would leave it open. "Let me go hit up an atm and I'll be back in a little while. Gotta go get cigarettes, too. Need anything?"

"No, ma’am, but thanks.”

' _Why am I so antsy tonight?_ ' I turned away from the bar and towards the gift shop halfway across the casino. I checked my phone, noting that it was only 10:00 pm. ' _I'm already at the bar, on my second drink, at an hour when I'd just be leaving the house, once upon a time_.'

Behind all the smells and sounds of the casino, for me, there was an underlying excitement. I paused my steps to pop my earbuds back in and press play on my phone's music app, and what came up next was a pleasant and welcome surprise. As the opening notes of "Tin Pan Alley" wandered into my ears, a smile spread across my face. The mellow and emotional guitar allowed me to relax, and slowed my pulse to match the song’s rhythm. Without the overwhelming sounds of slot machines dinging and dinging, I found a bit of romance in the oversized casino. The grand architecture and colorful decorations always reminded me of a grand party, though I suppose that was the whole point.

This wasn’t my first time to Atlantic City, but it would certainly be the one I would remember the most vividly. All the other trips I’d taken here in the past - to this casino or that hotel - were always a part of some kind of group trip. This vacation was, for me, a last hurrah, of sorts. My thirtieth birthday loomed on the horizon like a great, dark, wrinkly cloud with saggy breasts and grey hair.

The part of me that still clung on to the idea of a happy ending wondered if I might find some piece of zen here. A grain of mindfulness and gratitude for my ‘real life’ that I could bring home and stick under my pillow for good luck. Even if it just ended up being the placebo effect, my time away from responsibilities and routine would hopefully provide some perspective on where I stood in my life. Twenty-nine had washed over me with little thought or fanfare, but this birthday seemed to require some reflection, and more than a little alcohol.

Ultimately, it didn't matter what exactly transpired. I just kind of wanted to... be. Be alive. Enjoy a few days to reflect before my twenty-tenth birthday. Oh god. There it was again. Thirty. Holy shit. It was a lot to swallow. I’d thought my life would be so different by now.

*****

After I returned from the ridiculously overpriced convenience store, I decided to head back up to my room to pick up a few things. As I passed the casino bar, I idly hoped it wouldn’t get too busy by the time I came back, whenever that was. Conversation really wasn’t on my agenda, and for some reason I had a difficult time avoiding it in crowded places. A pretty girl never really stayed lonely for long in Atlantic City, to my chagrin.

I used my keycard to call the elevator to my floor, a monotone ‘ding’ signaling the lift’s arrival. I waltzed into the empty elevator, checking my facebook and singing along quietly, losing myself in writing the cleverest status update I could think of. Something about how underappreciated Disney show tunes are in modern society.

' _Really, if everyone listened to a little more Beauty and the Beast and did a little less arguing about who's right, maybe people wouldn't be so irritable all the time._ '

My skin tingled with goosebumps as the elevator doors opened to the voice of Chita Rivera singing about hot pianos and gin. I swayed and twirled unselfconsciously down the empty hallway, singing along to one of my favorite show tunes, failing to notice I wasn’t alone.

To my horror, as the music ended I heard a rather hearty clap coming from outside a room I'd just passed. I paused my music and turned around slowly, a hot blush unlike anything I'd felt since high school creeping up my chest and inflaming my cheeks. I wanted to sink into the floor and die as I realized my audience was supremely hot. He looked to be around thirty, but I was too flustered to really be certain. I could see his eyes sparkling and the corners of his mouth pulled up into an easy, lopsided grin. I gave a shy smile and a quick bow before I turned to get the heck out of there and to the safety of my room. I was wearing almost no makeup at all, so I'm certain he saw how red my cheeks were.

"I think you'd make a better Roxy, sweetheart." His voice was smooth, like tea and honey, with the broad tones of a Boston accent.

Smiling at his knowledge of the musical and throwing better judgement to fate, I called back over my shoulder, "Oh, don't sweetheart me, you son-of-a-bitch!"

His loud and surprisingly infectious laughter made me turn around, only to see the elevator doors closing. I had just enough time to sweep my eyes over his rather well-muscled form: broad shoulders stretching the material of a dark blue t-shirt, a long torso tapering down to narrow hips…

‘ _I wish I’d turned around sooner…_ _I wonder if his ass is as muscular as the rest of him.’_

Part of me was mortified from the soles of my feet to the roots of my hair… but something about that brief glimpse of him piqued my interest. I wondered if I'd ever get to see what those eyes looked like behind those oddly-trendy tortoise shell glasses. Probably not. He was gonna go like. Lift heavy things and put them back down. Mmmmmm… All those sweaty, bulging muscles…

‘ _That smile might be worth it.’_

It took me a few tries too many to open my door. Oops. I blamed the reek of cannabis in the hallway. ‘ _And the stoners are awake, jeeze. Smells like heaven up here._ ’

Those broad shoulders and perfect teeth floated among my thoughts as I transferred all my necessary crap from the small purse I’d been carrying into a modest beach tote. In addition to my wallet and keys, I packed some other essentials: my sketch pad, pencils, an extra pack of cigarettes, portable speakers and batteries, a bottle of water, and six pack of Bud Light cans. I tried my best to relax before heading out of my room again. After changing into a fresh tank top and leggings, I lit a cigarette, taking another moment to find the ashtray and bring it to the bathroom with me.

Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I wondered how much of my performance the handsome stranger saw. I always felt a bit more free in Atlantic City. Something about the idea of being completely free of so many restrictions… No bedtime. Indoor smoking. Beach whenever I felt like it. Feeling anonymous in such a large place always left me feeling just a bit more bold than my everyday life would allow. Enough to be warmed by the flame of recklessness, but never so bold as to get seriously burned. Singing show tunes in the hallway seemed appropriate somehow.

And I was completely alone. Some women live to share all their precious moments with loved ones, but not me. Solitude always left me feeling rested and recharged, and the stress of the last months left me nearly bereft of energy. A recharge, indeed.

‘ _Maybe a whole new battery_.’

My fiance Elliott and had I broken up a few weeks before. This solo mid-week-weekend was gonna be our first real vacation together. We’d been planning to go on this vacation together for months. It was the place we met, interestingly enough. He’d been hinting for a while about the idea of marriage. Sort of. Or maybe I had been reading into it.

_‘“Sorry, Evie. I just can’t help you pay for the hotel room, now that I’m not going. It would be too weird for us to go together now. I’m sure they’ll return your deposit if you turn on the waterworks a bit. Just enough, though. You don’t want them to think you’re desperate.”_

_“Yes I know we put down a deposit together, Evelynn. I just can’t be held responsible for a trip I’m no longer taking. You understand, don’t you?”_

_“Why are you doing this to me? You know I can’t worry about personal debts right now! I’ve got my graduation and my internship to think about. I’m moving to Boston in seven weeks; I need to hold on to every penny I can. I hope you understand. My future is at stake here. I guess we really_ don’t _want the same things anymore.”’_

I sniffed deeply, trying to loosen the knot in my throat. Pushing my emotions back had gotten easy for me lately. “It doesn’t matter anyway. He’s not here, and I’m gonna have a good time without him. I’m gonna take baths and watch stupid movies and smoke a bunch of weed and it’s gonna be great. Alone. I love being alone.”

Five days of nothing in particular stretched out ahead of me. Maybe a little homework. A few drinks. Lots of walks on the beach. The mental list I had of decisions and responsibilities that needed taking care of seemed overwhelming. When Elliott called off our engagement three weeks ago, it was almost a relief, to get this time away to process the vortex of my life.

“Okay, so. Project Spontaneity commences.” My habit of thinking out loud that so bothered my ex was given free reign. “Step one: procure the butler.”

Smoking weed was my one real indulgence for myself this vacation. I had my stoner phase in my early twenties, but, like most of my friends, I kind of grew out of it as the years went by and my priorities changed.

I carefully packed a bowl with a practiced hand. It had always been a calming ritual for me, from start to finish. Open the baggie. Look at how beautiful the buds are. Smell the aroma of the herb as I break it up or grind it. Carefully get all the bits into the bowl, trying not to spill. By the time the bowl was packed, I was feeling at peace. Something about the familiarity of the act felt restortative.

‘ _Yep. Restoration central._ ’ Placing my ready compatriot on the spacious marble counter, I surveyed my outfit. ‘ _Maybe I should have kept my jeans on.’_

I placed my cigarette on the side of the ash tray and pulled my lighter back out. Covering the carb, I flicked my lighter and took a short pull, checking my reflection in more detail as I held the smoke in. My outfit looked pretty cute, all things considered. Without the long tank top to cover it, my backside would look rather scandalous. My ex had always been a fan of whatever meager cleavage I could produce in a low cut top, but my ass? Dear god… If I had a dollar for every time he’d insisted I change into something more ‘appropriate’, aka covering my generous backside, I’d have been rich long ago. I exhaled, pretending the smoke was all my frustrations leaving my body.

“If this thing gets any bigger, I’m gonna need a new wardrobe.”  

I’d mostly brought comfortable clothes, thinking I’d just be bumming around the beach and the boardwalk for the most part: leggings, sweat pants, shorts and tanktops. I’d never really met anyone interesting or attractive here during off-seasons, and had only brought one ‘what-if’ little black dress. T-shirts? Yes. Blouses? No. Skirts, also no. I bent forward at the waist a bit, watching the hem of my long shirt ride up, cursing my fitness nut best friend for dragging me out of bed five days a week. Could that thing possibly get any bigger? I hoped not.

' _Don't think I look high. Maybe throw on some makeup, though… Never know who you’ll run into._ ' I figured that if I put on something fancy and classy, I would be guaranteed not to meet anyone worth dressing up for. Especially not the handsome Broadway fan from the hallway.

I took another quick, deep pull of the herb in my pipe and held my breath. I could feel the calming effects wash over me. “Just enough makeup to look alive,” I always told people. My light green eyes and naturally fair skin didn’t need much help to look presentable, with the right plan of attack. I felt that life was too short to have your face beat all the time.

Exhaling and leaning forward, I pulled out my makeup bag and set to work. A little bronzer, some eyeliner, some mascara and some brows brought everything  together.  I turned to spray a touch of perfume in front of me, then walked through it and out of the bathroom. Turning to look out the large sliding glass doors, I stared out at the water lapping far below my small balcony. The ocean at night was proving to be more of a temptation than I could handle, and I had a feeling I was going to end up on the beach before too long. I’d give the bar a shot though.

‘ _Girl, just finish your cigarette, and try not to bring any more shame to your family tonight, eh?_ ’ I sat down on my bed with the ashtray, and crossed my legs. I let my pulse slow down further. Losing myself in my thoughts, I made my final preparations to depart.

 

***

 

A few minutes later as I was leaving, I looked around the modest suite, certain I'd forgotten something. ' _Aha_!' Picking up my room key, I tucked it into my bra, next to my lighter and cash, and briskly walked out to the elevator.

Thankfully, my trip down to the main lobby was blissfully solitary. I used that time to fluff my hair in the bronze-hued doors and tugged my tanktop down for the fifteenth time.

My hips fell into a relaxed sway as I walked through the lobby into the casino. I saw that my seat from earlier was still open at the bar, and when the bartender saw me walk up, he nodded to me.

“Vodka and pineapple?” He asked. “And what took you so long?”

“Yes, please. And nothing in particular. Just got some stuff out of my room.” I sighed and sat down.

“She got caught jazz-handed,” said a familiar-sounding voice from two seats down.

I looked to my left and saw the handsome stranger from the hallway. Looking at him from this distance revealed him to be a rather virile specimen , indeed. His full beard looked as if it would make a lumberjack weep, and the hint of _just enough_ wispy, brown chest hair above the v-neck of his t-shirt was almost more than I could handle. As I pulled my eyes away from his chest, I caught his eye and found them suddenly a bit apprehensive, despite his quiet confidence. It was almost as if he wasn’t sure what I would think of him at this close distance.

“Sonofabitch.” I swore in a stage whisper. What’s a guy like him doing sitting _alone_ at a bar?  “I thought the world was bigger than this!”

“It was actually pretty good. She was singing Chicago as she got off the elevator, walked right past me, and gives me this sassy comeback when I catch her… I didn’t really know what to think, man.” The stranger tugged his ballcap down lower and swiveled in his stool to face me. “I’m Steve Rogers.”

I grasped his offered hand firmly. “Uh huh. Okay. And I’m Quentin Tarantino. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

The bartender interjected, “Oh Mister Tarantino! I’m such a big fan of your work!”

“Everybody’s a critic,” the stranger mumbled good-naturedly.

I turned my attention to the video poker screen in front of me. My finger hovered over the digital image of a card, wondering whether to hold on to it or not.

“No, not that one. Toss the five.” The stranger’s words caused my face to heat up again as I turned to look at him. “These games are rigged against you, but getting rid of that 10 is just dumb.”

“Uh… Thanks.” I offered lamely. With his attention turned back to his own video poker game, I was able to peek a little longer at his face. His sharp nose, glasses, and full bottom lip reminded me so strongly of someone, but I couldn’t put my finger on precisely who. He glanced over at me again and caught me staring.

“Do I, uh, have something on my face?” He asks me, absently running his hand over his beard as if to clean himself up. There was a hint of that devilish grin ghosting across his lips.  

“No. Sorry,” I sighed, trying to find a reasonable excuse for staring. “You just… You remind me of an ex. I think.”

“I’m not actually him, though, right? I find it hard to believe I’d forget you.” He grinned and took a long swallow of his beer.

“And I don’t think I’d forget those shoulders. Don’t worry, buddy. Whoever you are, I’m sure we’ve never met.” I chuckled to myself, pulling a pristine ash tray over next to my third drink. “I almost feel bad using this ashtray, it’s so clean. It’s a rough life, being so pretty and getting so dirty.”

As I looked down to light a cigarette, I heard a lecherous chuckle quickly masked by a cough. My face flushed hotly, and I grinned into my lap despite myself. “That sounded a little better in my head.”

“Oh no, it sounds just fine to me, miss… Ah... Tarantino?” He trailed off his question with another one of his easy smiles.  

“Evelynn. Most people call me Evie.” I reached out to shake his hand, much the same way he’d shaken mine when giving me his made-up name. He repeated my name back to me, though it honestly sounded more like a caress. Another blush crept its way up my cheeks, and I wondered what I could do to make him say my name like that again from between my legs.

He surprised out of my reverie by turning my hand over and looking at my palm rather seriously. He used his thumbs to splay my fingers out and I waited for… something, but all he did was drop my hand and say, “Nope.”

“‘Nope?’ Nope what?” I asked, thoroughly confused.

“I still can’t read palms.” His eyes danced as he looked at me, and I couldn’t help but laugh. Somehow during that exchange he managed to slip into the chair that’d previously been between us, and I finally got a better look at his shaded eyes.

He lifted his Red Sox cap to pass his hand over his buzz-cut hair and I got a glimpse of his blue eyes behind his glasses. When he turned his gaze to me and held it, part of me wanted to look away, and the rest of me was stuck trying to decide if his eyes were more blue or more green.

Raising his arms up, he leaned into what appeared to be a rather earth-shattering stretch. I turned back to my drink, trying not to have a heart attack. Seeing a flash of his taut stomach, and the dusting of fine hair leading other places, I started to wonder if there was a sin his body _wouldn’t_ make me want to commit.

“Past your bedtime, tiger?” I teased, still feeling the flush of heat in my cheeks. “Don’t let me keep you up.”

“Nah, I’m just jet-lagged. I just came back from overseas and the time change has been pretty brutal. I’ve been waking up around this time for the last few months, so now my internal clock is all fucked. I’m taking this week to get back onto East Coast time.” He had replaced his hat, but it didn’t seem to be tugged down so low anymore. The light played across his cheekbones and I could see hints of finely chiseled features beneath his scruffy facial hair. “From around here?”

“Nah, I’m from Baltimore,” I replied. “You?”

“Boston, born and raised.”

“Been away long?” I asked. Elliott was moving to Boston, but I tried not to think about it.

“Too long,” he replied, rubbing his beard. I waited for him to go on, but changing the subject he asks me, “Shot?”

“Duh.”

*****

Despite my best efforts, all conversation between “Steve” and myself had been squarely focused on me. At first it was kind of sweet how interested he was in my life, but all his deflecting talk about himself was starting to make me wonder. I stood up and adjusted my clothing, preparing to make my way to the beach.

“Now, I love talking about myself as much as the next gal, but I think I’m gonna go get some air on the boardwalk.”

“I hope it wasn’t something I said…” He trailed off with a self-deprecating smile.

“Oh, honey, no. Of course not!” I returned his grin. “I’m just... kinda talked out. I don’t think anybody’s gotten my life story out of me so quickly before.”

“I get that a lot.” He grinned and clasped his hands behind his head, leaning back.

“If you weren’t so handsome, it’d be kinda creepy. Though nobody said serial killers couldn’t be attractive. I mean, look at Ted Bundy.”

“So you think I’m handsome, eh?” He laughed and slid down from his stool.

“I definitely said creepy, too. I think you missed that part. If you’re Steven Rogers, I’m the easter bunny.”

“But a handsome kinda creepy, right, sweetheart?” It seemed his Boston accent became more pronounced after a few beers. “Well, look. How about this? I have to run back to my suite to grab a couple things. You wouldn’t wanna take a midnight stroll along the boardwalk when I get back down, wouldja?”

I smiled brightly to hide my disappointment. I figured he was ditching me. “Maybe. If somebody else doesn’t chop me to pieces first.”

“Alright, then. Wait for me outside, I’ll probably be back down in ten. I promise I’ll answer any questions you have. Within reason, of course.” He winked at me. “Can’t go giving away all my secrets on the first date.”

He jogged off before I could even formulate a response. I stood for a moment with my mouth open, staring after him. ‘ _Did he really just say date?’_

As I walked out the hotel’s luxurious boardwalk exit, I couldn’t help but smile and shake my head.

‘I’ll probably never find out who that guy really is…’ I thought to myself, trying not to get my hopes up. ‘Shame, he seemed like fun.’

*****

Brushing the last few eraser crumbs away, I held up my sketch in progress, looking at it closely in comparison to the lighted buildings before me. I sat in an adirondack chair across the boardwalk from the casino, completely focused. Some of the lines still weren’t quite perfect, but I had four more days to tweak things before returning back home.

I tucked my hair behind my ear and started to close my notebook when I heard someone calling my name. My head snapped up, eyes wide in surprise as an increasingly familiar figure crossed the boardwalk toward me.

“You certainly took your sweet time,” I teased as he approached.

“What, didja think I wasn’t coming?” He lowered himself into the chair opposite mine, and crossed his ankles atop my bent legs. I playfully pushed them off.

“Truthfully, yeah. I wasn’t expecting anything. I haven’t even decided if I think you’re gonna murder me yet, so I figured in the event you _were_ a serial killer, you standing me up wouldn’t be such a bad thing.” I pushed away his second attempt to rest his feet in my lap, I was starting to get upset with how comfortable he’d gotten with me despite me not knowing anything about him. “No! Look, I’m not trying to jump down your throat or anything, but the whole ‘faceless stranger’ thing is getting kind of old. If you’re gonna put your dirty shoes on my nice clean leggings, I’m at least gonna need to see your face. And I’m gonna need to see some ID if I’m supposed to believe you’re Captain fucking America, or I’m gonna march back up to my room and call security.”

“Oh, gosh. I’m really sorry!” He stood up, genuinely surprised and more than a little concerned. “How about this, come over here, in front of the casino. It’s well lit, with some people still around and let me… Ah, shit, miss. Let me reintroduce myself, eh? I’ll show you ID if that’s what you want, I’ll take off my hat if you want, and you can make up your own mind about calling security… Okay? Look. I’ll just go over there and whatever you decide to do from here is your business. I hope we can keep talking, but I’ll understand if you’d rather not.”

He turned and jogged over to the bright overhead street light about 20 feet away in front of the casino’s main door. The area was well-lit and still had a few stragglers hanging out, not to mention a small handful of security guards taking a cigarette break. I stood and watched him, at first not sure what to make of this sudden, earnest surprise. Maybe I had misjudged this guy. Or maybe that’s what Ted Bundy said before using his bulging biceps to crack his victim’s heads open like walnuts. They said Bundy was charming, right?

‘ _What’re you getting yourself into, girl?_ ’ I wondered. ‘ _Just relax. Be cautious, but relax. There’s even a police officer over there. He’ll probably hear my screams, right?_ ’

He did seem honestly apologetic, though…

I picked up my sketch pad and tote, holding the large book across my chest for what little protection it provided. As I made my way over to the entrance where this mysterious guy stood, my heart started to pound. Slipping my book of drawings into my tote bag, I tossed my hair over my shoulder and walked with far more confidence than I felt. I figured if I was walking to my death, why not meet it head on?

I stopped in front of him, feeling a bit more in control now that he sat and I was able to tower over him. Hitching up my bag on my shoulder, I folded my arms across my chest. I tried to keep my judgements and fears out of my voice as I looked up and told him, “Explain.”

“Well, I suppose I should start by introducing myself properly...” he began, taking off his ballcap and turning to look me full in the face under the brightness of the streetlight overhead. I finally realized where I’d seen his face. Captain fuckin’ America indeed.

“I’m Chris. Chris Evans. I’ve got my driver's license, my SAG card, go ahead and fuckin’ google me if you want, I swear to god I didn’t mean any harm.”

“Yes. Um… Wow. Shit… Really?” I couldn’t really think clearly enough to process his face right now. The scruffy beard. The voice. The body… Jesus. It was right there in front of me. I could literally reach out and touch his actual body.“I, uh… I think I understand why you wear a hat now. I’m…. Wow. Yeah, I’m sorry if I was rude about it, you were just being kind of evasive, yanno? A girl’s gotta be careful.”

“Sweetheart, I’m the one who should be sorry,” he grinned and chuckled seemingly at himself, pulling his hat back on. “I didn’t realize I was giving off the creepy vibe. Pretty girl like you deserves better than that.”

“Goddamn it…” I muttered mostly to myself. “This is gonna be the vacation I remember for the rest of my life. I can see the headlines now: ‘Baltimore Girl Dies Of Embarrassment In Atlantic City After Giving Hollywood Heartthrob The Third Degree.”

“Well, I for one hope you don’t die.” He grinned warmly and I could feel my blush growing hotter.  He tilted my chin up with a finger, and I was looking up into his big dumb blue eyes and nauseatingly honest and remoresful smile. “You said it yourself, a girl’s gotta be careful.”

“I’m just gonna go crawl into a hole and die now,” I groaned, turning my face away from his gaze. “Come on, let’s get back to those adirondack’s before somebody recognizes you.”


	2. Curiouser and Curiouser.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evie and Chris get to know each other a little bit. She also tries not to creep him out too much, and mostly succeeds. Life's tough when you know too much about serial killers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't think I'd get a new chapter posted this quickly, but once I got going the dialogue kind of wrote itself. It's not *nearly* as long as the last one, but it seemed like a good place to end the chapter. More coming soon guys.

The walk across the boardwalk seemed like the longest of my life. I mean, was this actually my life? Celebrity aside, he was so far out of my league. Who even looks like that? There had to be some kind of law against being that attractive. 

Sitting down, I allowed myself a moment to take in what had transpired so far. Meeting Chris Evans in a bar was so far beyond how I’d imagined my night would go. A quiet drink and a night of sketching by myself seemed to have gone out the window. I wasn’t sure what to make of it all, but watching his lean frame fold into the chair was enough to get my pulse racing, that was for certain. I was putting away my pencil case and notebook, trying to focus my brain and calm my jumpy nerves, when he reached over and touched my arm.

“Can I see what you’re working on?” Chris asked. “I don’t mean to pry, but it looked like you were pretty into that sketch before I walked up and pulled you out of la-la-land.”

The chairs on the opposite side of the boardwalk from the casino entrance provided a bit of privacy. I could hear the crash of the ocean behind me, and it soothed my frazzled nerves. This particular notebook was about half full, mostly of graphite and ink drawings. I stopped what I was doing, and looked over into his eyes. Dangerous blue-green eyes.

“I can’t speak to how impressed you’ll be. But sure. Have at it.” I flipped to the most recent page, and handed it over. “It’s mostly pencil at this point, but it’s almost ready for some inking. I’m trying to keep it pretty simple.”

His face turned more serious as he studied my drawing. Brow furrowing a bit, he passed a hand over his beard absentmindedly. He looked up at the casino, and back down at the book. 

“I’m no art expert, but I like what I see. The lines are clean. You’ve got a pretty good eye.” He looked over to me again. “Can I check out the rest? I love seeing how people choose to express themselves. It’s fascinating how differently each person experiences the same world.”

“Yeah, go for it.” I replied, sitting back. “None of it is really all that good, but it feels good to do it. Better out than in, am I right?”

“Fuckin’ a,” he said, almost to himself. “Bottling that shit up never leads anywhere good.”

Crossing my legs, I watched him peruse my notebook, still with a lingering sense of unreality. He didn’t speak as he turned the pages, and for that I was grateful. It gave me a moment to collect my thoughts. 

I combed through my long, wavy brown hair with my fingers, wishing for something to do with my nervous energy, and found my eyes drawn to his face again. Underneath the ballcap, glasses and beard he was one of the most handsome men in Hollywood. But it was his eyes that seemed to catch my attention most this evening. They were so focused. It seemed like he could really see what was going on around him. It made me wonder what he thought of all he was taking in. 

“What are these?” He asked, indicating a page with one of my intricate free-form doodles on it. “It’s really detailed.”

“Well, it’s a kind of meditative drawing” I said, uncrossing my legs and leaning closer. “You start with a larger shape, section it off with a few random longer lines, and get progressively more detailed as you go. It’s really soothing because the idea is to do these detailed little repetitive patterns, going with mistakes rather than fixing them, and when I’m stressed out it helps me focus my energy.”

“Well, they’re really beautiful.” He closed the book and handed it back to me. “I might have to try something like that. In my line of work, stress is pretty constant, and there’s a lot of waiting around. It’d be nice to have something to do with my hands, instead of obsessing over every little fuckin’ way I could’ve done better. Do you paint at all?”

“Sometimes. If the mood strikes me, and there’s money in the budget for it.” I twirled my hair around my fingers, tilting my chin down to hide from his intense gaze behind my side-swept bangs. “I’m not much for DIY canvases, and some of these craft supply stores want an arm, a leg, and a first born goddamn child for some of the larger ones. And the paint I like to use isn’t cheap, either.”

“I know what you mean.” A sarcastic grin spread across his face. “Even a hot shot Hollywood star like me had to come from somewhere. It seems like only yesterday that Pa and I were in the coal mines, saving every penny we could so Ma could have her beloved watercolor paper… Ahh, the good old days…”

“You’re fulla shit!” I said once my laughter had abated. “Your dad was a fucking dentist. Coal mines my ass.”

“Ahh, ya got me.” His smile was warm and genuine now. “Google’s foiled me yet again.”

“I hope that wasn’t too creepy.” I felt really embarrassed, like I’d come off obsessive. “I read old GQ magazines at the hairdresser’s…”

“Sweetheart, don’t worry about it.” He waved off my concern, placing a reassuring hand on my knee. “Intellectually, I understand I’ve achieved a level of notoriety. I mean, you don’t have a career like mine while simultaneously hiding under a rock. Some parts of my life are common knowledge. It’s kinda part of my job, and I accept that. Now if you were going on about my shoe size and my third grade teacher…”

“Oh my god, how creepy would that be…” My right hand flew to my cheek, and my left covered his without thinking. “Like if I busted out with, ‘Oh don’t worry! If you needed a kidney I could totally give you mine! We have the same blood type!’”

Suddenly self-conscious, I felt a blush creeping into my cheeks again as I pulled my hand back. To my amusement, I saw a similar pink tinge flush across Chris’ cheeks. I smiled and reached down to slip my sketch pad and pencil case into my beach bag, my leg growing cool after he took back his hand.

“One thing, though. Earlier you were worried about  _ me _ being a serial killer, when clearly that bag is big enough to stuff a body into. Should I be worried?” He arched an eyebrow in mock concern. 

“Obviously.” I rolled my eyes. “But now that you’re onto my plans I’ll have to find another victim. Too bad. You’d’ve made a great lampshade. Just the right color of pasty for my decor.”

“Now  _ that’s _ creepy.” His grin was infectious, and I was beginning to feel at ease. 

On a whim, I plopped my rather large bag into his lap. 

“Seriously, though. I’ve got nothing to hide but a beach blanket and some Bud Light. And…” I turned to see if there were any security guards in sight. Thankfully none were close enough to hear our conversation. “Maybe a little pot. My wallet’s even in there, you probably know people who could run a background check on me within the hour.”

“That’s just what a serial killer  _ would _ say,” he said. Looking up at me, his expression sobered a bit. “You know, you don’t have to prove anything to me. But I’ll look through your shit all the same. A vulnerable man like myself can never be too careful. It’s like a peek into your psyche…”

“Just don’t be surprised when you realize I’m just as boring as everyone else.” It came out a little more seriously than I’d intended.

“Never. Not possible.” Chris shook his head, pulling out my zippered wallet and examining the contents. “Not you, Miss… Evelynn Laird. Five-foot two, one hundred and forty-five pounds, hair brown, eyes hazel… Oh, and you’re an organ donor, too. May I commend you.”

I leaned back in my chair as he went on, commenting on this business card, or that membership ID. Closing up my wallet, he returned it to my purse and handed the bag back. 

“Look. You had me at Bud Light and a beach blanket. I’m willing to take the rest on a little faith.” He stood and stretched, though now that he had a hoodie on, I wasn’t treated to a view of the trail of hair below his navel. He held out his hand. “Let’s go. Beer’s gonna get warm.”

“Go?” I asked, a bit flustered, taking his hand and letting him help me up. For a moment we were almost too close, and I got the faintest whiff of something male and spicy that sent heat through my whole body.

“Yeah, go. Down to the water? Spread out this blanket and put a hurt on this six pack? Or do you just always carry beer around? I think they call that alcoholism.” He was already pulling me by the hand toward the steps leading to the beach. 

After a moment of speechlessness, I found my voice. “Yeah, okay. Go. Beach. Beer.” 


	3. Blankets and Beer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris and Evie have some time to talk. Will her insecurities get the better of her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one saves us but ourselves. No one can and no one may. We ourselves must walk the path. --- Buddha

Chris held my hand firmly as we walked down the ramp to the beach. Warm and surprisingly soft, his larger hand dwarfed mine. It felt like a lifeline in this surreal experience, and the connection gave me a little more confidence that I wasn’t going to freak out and fuck everything up. Hopefully. Maybe.

I was suddenly very glad I’d put on a little makeup before I left my hotel room, though the cool breeze from the ocean was making me regret not stuffing a hoodie into my over-filled tote bag.

“I love the beach at night!” He called over his shoulder, giving my hand a squeeze. In his excitement, he was practically dragging me down to the beach. With much shorter legs, I found myself half-jogging to keep up, but his joy was infectious, and I didn’t mind. 

“It’s so beautiful down here!” I shouted back, laughing. 

Halfway down the beach by now, I tugged my companion to a stop. I felt his gaze as he turned toward me, and I lifted my eyes to meet his. A few moments passed with us stupidly grinning at each other, hands still joined. Feeling self conscious, I let go of his hand as casually as I could manage, busying myself with unpacking my bag. And simultaneously trying not to think about how huge my butt must look while squatting down to do so. 

My best friend Jess kept trying to tell me how so many women go under the knife to get the backside I was born with. I didn’t understand the appeal. I always told her I’d willingly trade half of each cheek for some of her cleavage. Any of it, really. She always complained about how expensive bustier bras were, but I’d willingly pay the extra money if it meant my ass wasn’t always hanging out from ill-fitting pants. Thankfully, mom-jeans seemed to be making a resurgence. Low-rise jeans were always a bit of a disaster for me. Crack city.

With Chris’ help, the blanket I’d brought was laid flat on the sand in seconds. Kicking off my flip flops, I knelt down to lay out the rest of the stuff I’d brought. 

“Seriously. Do you always just have a six-pack in your bag?” Chris settled down next to me as I set the carbonated brew down on the blanket. “Because I’m ashamed to admit that it’s not exactly a turn-off.”

“Nah,” I replied, turning on my portable speakers and pulling out my phone to sync up the bluetooth. “Tonight just seemed like a good night for drinking on the beach.”

“Well you’re right about that.” He grabbed a beer and popped the tab. 

“FYI, somebody’s gotta chug one, coz I need an ashtray, ASAP and I’m not leaving butts on the beach.” Having cued up some music, I reached for a can of my own.

“‘Butts On The Beach’... I feel like that’s gotta be a porno.” He gave me another of his heart-stopping smiles, and I could feel myself blushing for the thousandth time that evening. Hopefully it was dark enough to hide my reddening cheeks. “How about a little competition? Whoever finishes their beer first wins.”

“But what do I get for winning?” I asked, my competitive streak overpowering my self-consciousness. 

“My undying respect and admiration isn’t enough?” A sarcastic brow arched in my direction, his grin turning a bit more aggressive. “Let’s see. If you somehow manage to chug your entire beer before I, the current unofficial reigning chug champion of Boston, finish mine… Dinner and drinks on me tomorrow night, if you can still stand to be in my presence. No strings, just two people having a good time. And if I win?”

“You won't.” I stated, playfully. “But if somehow you do, I’ll… Give you my phone number? That is, if you want it…”

“Throw in my choice of one of your sketches, and you’ve got yourself a deal.” Chris held out his hand, and I shook it. “And no barfing.”

“Of course,” I replied, popping open the tab of my beer and holding it up. “Salud?”

“Salud.” Chris tapped his can against mine, and we started to drink. Or at least, he did. I had a trick up my sleeve.

One of the few things I can thank my deadbeat father for is teaching me how to properly chug a beer. It may not be the most marketable skill, but Chris was eating my dust. I ended up finishing a good few seconds before he did, holding my empty can up in front of his face upside down, and letting out what was possibly the loudest belch in recorded history.

“Damn, girl,” Chris said breathlessly once his own can was empty. “Seriously. Don’t take this the wrong way, but that was pretty fuckin’ incredible. No one, and I mean not one person, has ever beaten me. Dayum.”

“That’s what happens when you talk shit, Mr. Fastest Chugger in Boston.” I let out another loud burp, excused myself and started to laugh as he made a grand show of bowing down in front of me. “I’ll admit I’m a bit rusty. I’ve done it faster.”

“ _ Faster _ ? Jesus fuckin’ Christ.” His smile was warm, and his face was openly awed by his defeat. “I feel like I should sweeten the deal after a performance like that. How do you… How do you even drink it that fast?”

“I don’t, to be perfectly honest.” I pulled out my pack of cigarettes and zippo, then got to settling my empty beer can into the sand next to the blanket. “I just kind of open my throat and down it goes. If you stop to swallow it slows you down.”

“That’s what she said.” He started to laugh, and I found myself fighting back a smile.

“You’re lucky I don’t have anything good to throw at you…” I pulled out a cigarette, raised it to my lips, and lit it. Anything to keep from giving him the satisfaction of my amusement. “Because I would.”

“I’m  _ so _ scared.” His mocking was gentle, and even in the dim light I could see the kindness in his mischievous expression.

I noticed he’d pulled out his own pack of cigarettes. Without even thinking, I flipped my lighter open, reached over toward Chris, struck the flint and lit his cigarette before he could even pull his own lighter out. It was a familiar motion for me, practiced countless times. The muscle memory was so deeply ingrained, I’d hardly had to look. There was a time when such a simple act was a willing ritual of devotion to another man in a time long passed.

“You’re not gonna ask me to go dutch for dinner tomorrow night now, are you?” He grinned at me, and I was again grateful for the darkness hiding my blush. “I mean, I’m all for equality, but-”

“Fuck that, I won fair and square.” I tried my best to sound far less embarrassed than I felt. Taking a long drag off my cigarette, I shifted on the blanket to face him more fully. My confidence wavered and I offered, “I’m sorry if it was weird-”

“Hey, don’t apologize,” Chris interrupted, blowing a cloud of white smoke into the wind. “Then it  _ would _ be weird. You’re a bit of a contradiction, you know that?”

“What do you mean?” I stared at the waves crashing onto the beach. I could tell what was coming. I knew my insecurities better than anyone, for better or for worse. 

“You’ve got this big brass balls, been bustin’ my chops all night. And hey, I’m a big boy, I can take it. I can even tie my own shoes on a good day.” He chuckled softly and shifted on the blanket. “But then just now, you… You let your cracks show. And it makes me wonder what happened to make you feel like you have to apologize for a simple courtesy.”

“Life happened.” I sighed, not wanting to bog the conversation down with tales of the emotional abuse I’d suffered on and off at the hands of my ex-fiance. Elliott was a piece of shit, and the further I kept him from my mind, the better.

“I’m not gonna pry it out of you,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice, despite rather intently studying the growing ash on the end of my cigarette. “But maybe you could leave the ‘I’m sorry’s behind for tonight. I’d consider it a personal favor. ‘Do not dwell on the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment.’”

“I didn’t know you’d be slinging Buddha at me, or I’d have worn my philosophy pants.” I replied with a shiver. The breeze rolling off the ocean was turning cold. “I’m not making any promises, but I can try.”

“Hey that’s better than nothin’.” 

He passes me another beer like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Our fingers brush as I take it, and I meet his gaze. There was no judgement in his eyes, but for a moment there seemed to be a mixture of sadness and longing. 

***

The next few hours slipped by in a languid haze. I let myself relax and enjoy a long and at times deeply philosophical conversation. Eventually, I found myself wrapped up in Chris’s hoodie, laying with my head in his lap, totally relaxed. The sound of the ocean crashing in front of me and his deep voice rumbling above me was so peaceful, I… 

To be perfectly honest, I had no idea I’d fallen asleep until I was being gently shaken awake.

“Hey, I’m gonna get you back to your room. It’s after four.” 

He gently encouraged me to sit up, and I reluctantly obliged. It seemed he’d already put most of my stuff back into my bag and was just waiting for me to vacate the blanket. I stood quickly, and instantly regretted it, sitting back down rather ungracefully into the sand.

“I’m okay. I just think I stood up too fast. And now your hoodie’s gonna be all sandy…” I decided staying seated was probably my best option. 

“It’ll wash.” He said with a smile, putting my folded blanket away. “Now, you wanna try that whole standing thing again? Maybe a little slower this time?”

I took a quick survey of my legs. They seemed to still be attached, though not altogether functional. Against my usual instincts, I held both my hands out to Chris in the international symbol of ‘help me up’. He chuckled and obliged, and to my fatigued senses it felt like I was zipping through the air onto my feet. And into a solid wall of warm muscle. Before rational thought could intervene, my arms slipped around his waist, and I leaned my cheek against his chest. After a moment’s surprised hesitation, I felt him return the embrace. 

The last six months had been a desert of physical affection for me. Elliott had decided to move out, citing a need to focus more completely on his schooling, and had been increasingly cold from that point on. To feel and to smell Chris in that moment… It was cool water to the parched lips of my psyche. 

We stayed like that for a long moment, just breathing and existing. A part of me was also resisting the urge to slide my hands down to his decidedly muscular butt. I blamed the alcohol.

“Let’s get you to bed, hmm?” His voice rumbled through his chest. “If we stand here any longer I’m afraid you’ll pass out on me again. And as much as I like the idea of carrying you up to your room, I don’t know how kindly security would react to strange man hauling an unconscious woman through the lobby.”

“Yeah okay.” I reluctantly pulled back, feeling his large hands slide around my waist, steadying me. “Lead on, Cap.”

Chris handed me my bag, and I hauled it onto my shoulder as we began the trek back to the casino. The companionable silence lasted until we got on to the elevator.

“What floor are you on, sweetheart?” He asked.

“Seventeen,” I yawned my reply, leaning back against the wall of the elevator.

“Now  _ that’s _ creepy.” He pushed the button, and stepped back. “I won't stalk you, if you don’t stalk me.”

“What?” Clearly, my intellectual acuity only got sharper as the night drew to a close. 

“Don’t worry about it.” Chris said as he slung an arm around my shoulders. “Just know that if I have a hangover in the morning, I won't have to go far to see if you’re feeling the same.”

“Morning? God, I could sleep till next week.” 

I yawned again, sliding my arm around his slim hips. And still resisting the urge to cop a feel. I deserved a fucking medal, because after a few more quiet moments in the elevator, as we were walking down the hall toward my room, I swore I could feel the muscles of his ass flexing against my forearm. Sainthood was clearly in my future.

“This is me,” I said, stopping in front of my room to pull out my key. I leaned back against the wall next to the door, trying not to think about how badly I wanted him to kiss me. “Thank you. Really. I had an amazing time tonight.”

“Please, I should be thanking you,” he replied, stepping in close enough so that I could faintly smell his spicy cologne. “Saved me from a pretty boring night alone. And who knows what I would’ve gotten into, if left to my own devices. You shared your beer, your bud, your blanket… Hell, I think I smoked about half your cigarettes. I’m looking forward to repaying the favor tomorrow evening, if you’ll let me.”

“I think this is where I give you my number…” I said, returning his smile and reaching into my bag for a pen. “If you’ll let  _ me _ , that is.”

“Whatever you like, sweetheart,” he said, and his grin grew wider. 

Unable to come up with any paper on which to write my cell number, I took his left hand and wrote it onto his forearm. I added a heart and my name beneath it and tucked my pen away again. 

It became almost overwhelming how close he was. My eyes slowly travelled from his lean hips, up past his broad, muscular chest and shoulders, lingering on his full lips, to his heavily-lidded green eyes. I’d sworn earlier they were blue, but it wasn’t the color that surprised me; it was the openly sexual heat that I found in his gaze. 

Oh my god. Every single square inch of my skin wanted him, in hopes that maybe his touch would put out the liquid fire he’d brought to life inside me. And in my panties, holy shit. 

“If I didn’t know any better,” he rumbled, his voice soft and a bit strained as he leaned in closer, lips next to my ear, “I’d think you were checking me out.”

He couldn’t have known how sensitive my ears and neck were, but I shivered all the same. I knew if I wanted to, he could be mine tonight. It would only take a few words and we could literally be fucking. 

But then I yawned. God-fucking-damnit. A big, gasping, earth-shattering yawn, right next to his ear before I could do anything to stop it. And I started to laugh, because of course I did. His laughter soon followed, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, drawing him into a hug.

“I think I just cockblocked myself,” I said into his ear, my voice still a bit husky. “Maybe the universe is trying to tell me to get some sleep. Continue this conversation tomorrow?”

“Yes, definitely,” he replied, pulling me close enough to where our bodies were pressed fully together. “I’ll text you, okay?”

“Yep,” I said, and kissed his bearded cheek. “And if you’re hung over, you know where to find me. Mama Mary Jane is the best cure of all.”

“Duly noted. Goodnight, Evelynn.”

“Goodnight, Chris.”

It wasn’t until he stepped back a little that I realized he’d had me pressed against the wall. I had fleeting thoughts of getting him to fuck me then and there against the door as slid my room key card into the slot and turned the door handle. 

Before fully opening my door, I turned back to face him for a moment and asked, “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” was his reply as he began to walk away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've enjoyed things so far! I'm shooting for updates somewhere around twice a week. This chapter took me a bit longer to write than the last one, but I'm pretty pleased with the results. Your thoughts, guys? I'd love to hear what you think. 
> 
> Possible smut in the next chapter! I have an evil plan formulating in my head. But for now, I'm off to sleep. 
> 
> Side note: I just saw The Force Awakens for the second time, and I cried *again* here and there throughout the whole thing. Especially that one really sad part near the end, even more than the first time I saw it, because I knew it was going to happen. Too much feels. I wont spoil it if you haven't seen it, but if you have, you probably know what I'm talking about. OH THE FEELS!


	4. Dream Interrupted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evie has a nice dream, but it's not quite how she remembered things.

I could feel my pulse thundering in my ears as I waited patiently, kneeling in the center of the bed. It felt like I’d been waiting for ages, hands cuffed behind my back, blindfolded. It could’ve been hours that I’d been waiting, the only measure of time’s passage was the sound of turning pages coming from a chair across the room. I knew he’d never keep me bound up for  _ that _ long, but it sure as shit felt like it.

It was another of his exercises in patience, and it wasn’t exactly my strong suit. I knew that I could stop things at any point, and it wouldn’t be a big deal, but I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it. Quiet, still, and patient, without getting insecure and freaking out.  _ He wouldn’t leave me here indefinitely. He’s not ignoring me. He’s testing me. _ Variations on these thoughts became my mantra as I tried to keep breathing deeply. 

In.  _ Focus on your posture, keep your back straight and your chin up _ . And out.  _ He hasn’t forgotten about me, he’s right across the room _ . In.  _ It’s just a test, you can use your safeword at any time _ . And out.  _ I wonder what book he’s reading… _ In.  _ Is it more interesting than me?  _ And out. _ Of course not, right? It’s just a test. _ In. _ A game. An exercise.  _ And… 

The snap of a book closing pulled me out of my reverie, and set my pulse racing. I hate to admit that I jumped. He’d be sure to remember that later. 

Long seconds passed before I heard him stand up. The soft swish of his pants legs told me he was walking closer to where I knelt on the bed. I could feel his gaze on me, and it sent a surge of heat through my body, hardening my nipples and dampening between my spread thighs. Knowing he was so close was driving me crazy. Smelling him ( _ he smells different, why? _ ), hearing his breath… I could feel the space between us like another entity in the room. 

I steeled myself against the ocean of desire welling inside me. I had explicit permission to breathe, and that was about it. Don’t move or make any noise without his direction. He had my explicit consent, so it’s not like I didn’t know precisely what I was getting into. But I had no idea how hard it would be to just do… Nothing. Especially knowing he was so close. 

I felt his warm, strong fingers stroke my cheek, slowly travel down my neck and across my clavicle. My skin felt electrified in the wake of his touch. Sensory deprivation was tougher than I’d thought, but it seemed the rewards were greater, too. He traced a single finger around my areola, and I became certain that my nipples were hard enough to cut glass. The self control involved in remaining still, pliant and silent almost became too much, and I nearly cried out with my safeword. His gentle caress after such a long period of deprivation brought my arousal to a nearly painful level. Not being able to react made everything feel much more intense… And I really wasn’t sure how much more I could handle. 

“What’s your color, sweetheart? I need to know how you’re holding up before we proceed.”  _ Wait, what? That’s not how this day went. What’s Chris doing here? I thought I was with… _

***

A loud buzzing next to my face pulled me out of my slumber, and I groaned in disappointment. Thankfully, the buzzing stopped after a moment, but nothing would bring back the fading threads of my dream. 

I opened my eyes reluctantly. God, why did I have to put my phone right next to me? And… Holy fuck. Why didn’t I drink more water last night? Did I eat anything at all? Man, I was getting way too old for this shit. There was a dull throbbing in my head, my mouth tasted like the Gobi desert of ass, and I had a strong feeling that any water I  _ did _ drink would come right back up. 

_ I didn’t even drink that much! Why does thirty have to suck so much ass? I never asked to live this long. _

Picking up my phone, I saw what was probably the most wonderful text message I’d ever received. 

**Johnny Rockets. What can I bring you? - Chris**

**Patty melt, extra bacon. Fries. Chocolate shake. Coke with no ice. Did I mention you were a saint?**

**Pack a bowl and we’ll discuss my canonization over ‘breakfast’. See you in 30.**

‘Breakfast’. Well, at 12:30 in the afternoon, it seemed like a close enough approximation. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's so short! I needed to give you guys something, so here it is. I'm working on more, been feeling really depressed and unmotivated lately. I know the direction I want things to go (Dom!Chris, anyone?), and I'm gonna try and shoot for an update a week. 
> 
> You can yell at me to keep working on Twitter and Tumblr if you want. Same username for both: SillyKelsieGirl. I promise I'll respond!

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism welcome! If you guys like it, I'll write more, promise.


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